


Cat Intestines and Horse Hair

by Not_an_American_kid



Category: Sherlock Holmes - Arthur Conan Doyle
Genre: Domestic, I’m so tired please forgive me, M/M, Pre-Slash, Sass, Sherlock Plays the Violin, Watson has had ENOUGH of Sherlock’s shenanigans
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-12-31
Updated: 2017-12-31
Packaged: 2019-02-24 10:57:06
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 657
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13212318
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Not_an_American_kid/pseuds/Not_an_American_kid
Summary: Sherlock plays the violin to deal with stress. John can barely stand the hideous screeching that results from this.





	Cat Intestines and Horse Hair

**Author's Note:**

> This is in the universe of the TV series “The Adventures of Sherlock Holmes”, starring Jeremy Brett as Sherlock. It plays on tv at 3 AM, and I have fallen in love with it.
> 
> Also it’s 5 AM right now.

Sherlock had a few ways to deal with the stress that followed when he was faced with an especially difficult case, one where his natural brilliance and observational skills could not solve it immediately. He hated waiting, most of all. He smoked opium, to escape into a calm daze, where the frustration of messy autopsies and clumsy policemen could not bother him. He took walks, to clear his head and, perhaps, gain some insight into whatever tedious little puzzle he was fidgeting with. 

 

But, when such calm and passive activities simply would not do, the horrific torture of his precious violin suited him best. He would throw the instrument onto his shoulder, brows furrowing into a tight and unpleasant expression, grip on his bow so tight the delicate hairs nearly split. And he would drag the bow along the strings, and a cacophony of pained screams would follow, the poor violin being forced to say what Holmes would never dream to voice himself, his untamed aggression and hatred when his work was delayed.

 

”For Gods sake Holmes, lay the poor violin down! I can barely hear my own thoughts!” Watson exclaimed as Holmes’ loyal violin was playing a quite unique symphony, born from the dark inner workings of Sherlock’s mind that Watson had no intention of getting to know, when such horrid noise was the product of it.

 

Sherlocks arm fell limp, and the bow was held loosely in between his fingers, the violin on his shoulder sagging as his grip on it let go. His expression remained contorted, and he barely glanced at the doctor. “If I cannot voice my inner turmoil via my violin, where else shall I voice it, Watson?” His tone was as cold as ever, his mouth twitching, and Watson could barely comprehend that Sherlock did indeed feel human emotion, besides his often shown excitement. 

 

“Do not ask me, Holmes, for I haven’t the slightest idea. But I am sure that none of the people in this building, and even the ones outside of it, appreciate the sound of you abusing those poor feline intestines.” Watson shook his head, rubbing his temple, greatly relieved at the end of Holmes’ musical venting. “Or horse hair, whatever that instrument of yours is made of...”

 

“None of your guesses were correct, Watson, and I am sure that the only ones that can listen to me playing are you, I, and Mrs. Hudson. The people of Baker street are not bothered by my violin, for they cannot hear it.” Holmes ungraciously dropped the violin onto the couch, collapsing into his arm chair in front of the fireplace with a displeased huff, still refusing to meet Watsons eyes. 

 

“You know what I meant, Holmes.” Watson sat down as well, across from Sherlock, his hands intertwined. “I guess it is not the worst possible way for you to relieve your stress, but I’ll be damned if it does not interfere with my concentration.” Watson sighed, Holmes appearing more as a pouty child rather than the most intelligent man in all of London, nestled in his chair with his shoulders too high against his face.

 

“You could always return to your clinic, Watson, where my musical laments cannot bother you.” Sherlock retorted, displeasure clear on his face. Watson felt almost hurt by the sharp edge of Holmes’ statement.

 

”I shall do no such thing. You requested for my help with this case, so I will not go on my merry way when you are in need of me.” When he said that, Holmes finally met his gaze, though it dropped down to the floor for a moment before he replied.

 

”That is most considerate of you, my dear Watson.” Sherlock picked his violin back up, bow gently tapping at the strings. “How about I play a classical piece, then?” He raised a brow, and Watson smiled at his significantly calmer tone.

 

“Yes, Holmes. That would be more pleasant indeed.”

**Author's Note:**

> I adore Sherlock in the show, so animated and subtle in his friendship with Watson. I recommend it.


End file.
